


don't you

by serendipitee



Category: GOT7
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, M/M, Pre-Threesome, can't believe that's an official tag, the working title for this fic was 'sex sensei mark'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 08:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20543414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitee/pseuds/serendipitee
Summary: “God, where did you learn to do that?”





	don't you

**Author's Note:**

> title from Lizzo's ["lingerie"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uOLdd340HiQ) \- _you know what you doin', don't you?_
> 
> i talked about this [idea of jjp being newly together and super big in love and wondering who the other got so much experience with](https://twitter.com/sunnyseunie/status/1148308915232358400) like ??? two months ago and i haven't stopped thinking about it since so. this is the product of that :-) hehehe
> 
> stylistically this is a little different for me bUT i had a lot of fun!!!!!

“Jesus,” Jaebeom croaks, fist loosening in the thick hair at the crown of Jinyoung’s head. “Oh, fuck.”

He’s a little ashamed of how fast it happened; the way that it’s been barely five minutes since they rushed into his apartment, hands all over each other, and he’s already finished in Jinyoung’s mouth but from here — looking down at Jinyoung’s smug, swollen lips licking up what little come he hadn’t sucked right out of Jaebeom’s cock — he can’t really blame himself. 

He had sunk down on Jaebeom with a truly shocking single-mindedness, fluttering pretty dark eyelashes even as he gagged reflexively around the length of him, taking him deep into the hot wet give of his mouth and throat so easily, so self-assured —

The offender smirks up at him, rubbing at the red corner of his mouth with his thumb. Jaebeom’s stomach is still tense from his orgasm but it flips regardless, the same butterflies that have been rioting over the past three and a half weeks since he and Jinyoung decided tenuously to try dating. 

It’s terrifying. But like anything else that’s scared Jaebeom for the last ten years, it’s easier to let the fright wash over him when Jinyoung’s there holding his hand through it.

“How did you….” Jaebeom has to pause to catch his breath, leaning against the cool surface of his kitchen counter heavy on his hand while Jinyoung tucks his cock back into his jeans. He helps Jinyoung up when he wobbles to stand, knees surely stiff, and fumbles with filling up a glass at the sink for him to drink. “God, where did you learn to do that?”

“I, uh.” Jinyoung goes surprisingly pink for someone who was just deepthroating a dick. He flattens his palm against his cheek to quell down the color. He takes the glass with a small thanks. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Really?”

Jinyoung flails his free hand like he’s waving the question out of the air. “What about you?” he objects, pout emerging. “How come you are so...how do you know how to, um. With your fingers.”

Jaebeom barks a laugh at Jinyoung’s sudden shyness, but the actual content of the question is, well, pretty distracting. The table turned, Jaebeom is washed over with a shifty discomfort. Why did he ask? Why couldn’t they have just acted like they were born knowing this stuff? “I mean. I would guess the same way you did. From….”

“From somebody?” Jinyoung finishes his sentence when he bites his lip. “That’s. Yeah. Me too.”

Jaebeom sighs, eased by the way his friend always knows what he means. “Yeah.” 

“Who?”

The back of Jaebeom’s neck is hot when Jinyoung turns his big eyes on him. “Does it matter?”

“Not really. I’m just curious, like. If I know them.”

Now the heat is crawling around under Jaebeom’s collar, up into his cheeks and ears. “You do.”

Jinyoung’s eyebrows pop up in surprise, swollen kitten-smile deepening. “Do you think…?” he starts, grinning wider when Jaebeom shakes his head.

“No way. Absolutely not,” Jaebeom argues, smile blossoming despite himself at Jinyoung’s eagerness. “I definitely know yours and he is not mine.” He thinks of the way Jinyoung and Jackson have been thick as thieves for as long as he can remember, the way they lean into each other and put their heads together and love each other obnoxiously and quietly and wholeheartedly. It’s obvious.

“Oh, really?” Jinyoung challenges, eyes sharp over his smirk. “We can just say it and be sure, then, since you’re so positive.” He crosses his arms over his wide chest, mind set, and shrugs like it’s no big deal.

Jaebeom gapes for a second, taken aback. “I…fine! Let’s do that.”

“On three?”

Jaebeom swallows and nods. “One, two….”

And then, in unison, they say it: 

“Mark hyung.”

x

(They change, relax into comfortable clothes, curl up in bed together before talking about it. Maybe Jaebeom’s bed is too charged a location to have this conversation, but the coziness and the years of nights spent just like this, whispering secrets to one another under the covers, make it feel like exactly the right place.)

To hear Jinyoung tell it, the whole thing sounds rosy and nostalgic. Which is good — he prefaces the story by saying his struggle with his sexuality, with liking boys, became a lot easier to bear when he realized that it wasn’t some sort of aberration, not even in his team.

Once upon a time, Jinyoung was twenty and full to the brim with all the same angst of his teenage years, put off during training and now threatening to spill out all over his new group of old friends, close to tipping over and seeping poison into their carefully crafted peace and cohesion.

(Now, Jaebeom squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry, Jinyoungie.” Now, Jinyoung curls into his side with a smile and a shake of his head. He kisses Jaebeom’s knuckles; he is forgiven.)

Of course, he worked very, very hard to hide this, and in their rookie year no one was willing to go to the risk of upending their balancing act of work and camaraderie by digging for it. 

Mark defied Jinyoung’s expectations. He had from the beginning, really: the guy whose temper would flare up in a heartbeat at the company was the same one who took him up on his nervous offer, in halting English, to go to the convenience store and walk around the park with him, smiling shyly and twisting the drawstrings on his hoodie. Those half-understood moments during their trainee years coalesced into a sweet, tender friendship Jinyoung was happy to bring with him into his career.

But Mark had never seemed the type to ask too many questions. From what Jinyoung had seen, he was rather more content to stick with the status quo than to push any clear boundaries set before him.

Maybe that was the issue. All of Jinyoung’s lines were blurred, entangled in a big, twisting mess. Even the line between the two of them — the lines between Jinyoung and all of his male friends, as something blinked awake inside of him that he hadn’t dared consider up until now, as he sifted through this brand new knowledge of himself.

When it happened, Jinyoung didn’t know if Mark had simply guessed it himself or if he was just being _ that _ obvious. Whether Mark could feel something in his eyes on the side of his face, searching, as they watched a late night rerun of Running Man in Jinyoung’s room, on his laptop, curled up under his ratty Kirby blanket, and if that was the reason he turned to him and asked:

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jinyoung flinched, shrinking away on instinct, but Mark settled a hand against his waist to halt him. “It’s okay. We don’t have to.” His voice was so soft, deep and mellow and soothing like a lullaby. Jinyoung couldn’t help but to roll into the warm circle of his arms, burrowing into his neck, hiding.

“I — ” Jinyoung’s voice was thick in his throat, choking around a whisper. His eyes welled up shamefully at the waver, and he pressed his face back into the crux of his shoulder, the heat of Mark’s skin radiating out from where his old hoodie had shifted down. “I don’t think I can. I’m sorry.”

A thin, careful palm cupped around the back of his neck, fingers sliding into his hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Jinyoungie. Nothing.”

Jinyoung shook his head, protesting, but Mark only squeezed him tighter. Told him through his embrace, his sparse words, that he could be safe here. 

Which may have been what made Jinyoung feel so reckless; maybe that’s why he did what he did. The further he settled, relaxing into his hyung, the closer his pouting mouth got to Mark’s throat, breath hot and sticky when it ricocheted back at him.

It was so tempting, then, with a swath of smooth skin in front of him, to lean in and kiss it. In reverence, he told himself. It’s a thank you, he decided.

He could feel his pulse under his lips. There was something distinctly heady about that; feeling Mark thrum with life against him, feeling his heart rate pick up when Jinyoung opened further, kissed his neck wetter and poked his tongue out imploringly. When Mark breathed out his name, Jinyoung could feel it.

Mark’s hand tightened around his nape, tense enough to make Jinyoung pull away and let his excitement catch up with him as Mark stared him down. Even the fried, permed red hair pushed back from his face did nothing to play down his loveliness. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it, looking at his hyung’s pretty blush and wide, dark eyes, his full lips and the slow, luscious way they revealed the serrated edges of his teeth in a smirk. 

He definitely couldn’t stop himself from letting a soft surprised noise out when Mark leaned forward and trapped him into a gentle but blistering open-mouthed kiss, or the way that he melted into him again, turned boneless by the swirl of sensations.

Jinyoung lost himself in the feeling of his hyung’s cool hands, the slick swipe of his tongue in and out of Jinyoung’s mouth like he was drinking him in. When he rolled them over, arm still tight and secure around Jinyoung’s waist, his slim hips slotted between Jinyoung’s legs and the sweet fever between them crackled and billowed and grew a thousand degrees hotter. 

Mark squeezed the back of his neck again, grounding, before spreading himself all down Jinyoung’s front, huffing when the bulge of his half-hard cock kissed against Jinyoung’s own. “God, Jinyoung,” he groaned, Jinyoung throbbing and twitching at the sound, at Mark feeling drunk enough on kissing him to slur his name like a prayer. 

Jinyoung grasped at Mark’s shoulders, shuddering, crescendoing into moans as they moved together with purpose, grinding and rolling their hips in a messy rhythm. Mark hushed him with the thick swell of their lips sealed together and Jinyoung held tight to every new, electric arc of feeling, fizzling under each bit of skin Mark explored.

They did talk about _ it _eventually. The elephant in the room. But not that night.

That night, Jinyoung asked for everything Mark would be willing to give him, pleading. He spent it being stripped bare, blooming warm and vibrant like the sunrise, and being speared and spread open with delicate, hunting fingers, and discovering a prickling, delicious sensitivity that made him squirm and tremble, made him muffle his cries with a loose fist. 

He begged for Mark to unravel him, whimpering deliriously into the sharp edge of his mouth for him to “fuck me, _ please_, hyung,” and Mark, with all his adoring intensity and quiet confidence, gave him exactly what he wanted.

(Jaebeom’s hand unconsciously slides up Jinyoung’s leg while he talks about it, when his eyes go bright and his grin twitches in embarrassment as his past self and the way he fell apart in Mark’s hands. His heart is rattling in his ribs, thunking against the cell bars at the faraway look that comes over Jinyoung’s face when he talks about the softness of Mark’s skin, how kissing him was unlike anything he had done before with girls, how careful and doting he was. How feeling him inside made his head spin, made him _ long _ to be filled. Made him keep coming back.

Heat sizzles in Jaebeom’s stomach, the image of Mark and Jinyoung entangled in each other’s bodies burning against the back of his eyelids like he’s seen it. 

In a way, he has. He knows both of their bodies now. He knows exactly what Jinyoung means. 

When he digs his fingertips into the meat of Jinyoung’s thigh, his boyfriend’s boxers barely conceal his cock jumping.

Jaebeom licks his lips.)

x

Jaebeom was a different story.

Over the years they had known each other, Mark and Jaebeom had disagreed plenty of times. Fought, even — two teenage boys ramped up on too little sleep and hormones and language barriers, two kids who had a hard time expressing bad feelings without the swift satisfaction of anger. Eventually they realized just how kindred their spirits were, and their interactions went from tense to familiar in a heartbeat; the switch flipped after they opened their hearts to one another, and instead of fighting with fists, they turned to bickering like old friends.

So Jaebeom wasn’t used to things being _ fraught _ between them. It felt bad, honestly, to have a heaviness in the air between them like this, even though he didn’t really know what to make of it. Jaebeom initially wrote it off as a symptom of overwork, of stress, and the fact that Mark was typically the first to flash to frustration besides himself.

But it seemed as if it was only between the two of them. When Jaebeom took his time to look at him with everybody else, he seemed...just the same as always. Meanwhile, their normal joking around and play fighting had a sharpness to it, one that Mark barely covered up when he averted the razor’s edge in his eyes, when he squeezed too hard around the palm of Jaebeom’s hand after losing at arm wrestling, when he would go prickly at Jaebeom using his recent muscle gain to his advantage, pinning him down as they wrestled, flushed and frowning and cursing when he would normally laugh, high and pretty and clanging like a bell, and wriggle around underneath him. 

(Jinyoung snorts. “You really didn’t notice?”

“I had no idea until he....Did you?”

Jinyoung pinkens. “He might have mentioned it. At the time. When we were….”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”)

It came to a head after filming the Hard Carry video. They were all exhausted from the day’s work, crabby and sore after having to redo the pool scene over and over again until it looked right. Mark kept messing up the delivery of the underwater lines, going too fast or too slow, never hitting it right and managing to look into camera at the same time.

Nobody blamed him of course, least of all Jaebeom, but the day had completely soured his mood to a point that they could almost see the dark cloud hanging over his head. He refused to speak to anyone the whole way home, even when Yugyeom leaned over onto his shoulder to doze off in the van. When Jaebeom tried to catch his eye on the way into the dorm to check on him, he blinked and looked away, eyes flat.

The dismissal felt like a slap in the face. The cherry on top of weeks of tension between them. It made something old and ugly and mean rear its head, creeping up his throat and out of his mouth when he insisted Youngjae go hang out in Jaebeom and Jackson’s room for a while, stalking after his old friend. The murmurs that followed in his wake sounded a lot like they used to when this used to be more common.

He only waited long enough to close the door to Mark’s room before exploding. “What is your problem?”

Mark turned to him. “What?” The single word was thick and icy off of his tongue, and it made Jaebeom stupidly, instinctually, incandescently angry.

“You heard me. Why are you acting like this?”

Mark’s frown went acidic for just a second, just long enough for him to seem to decide it wasn’t worth it and start turning away again. “It was a long fucking day, Jaebeom. Leave me alone.” The last part of it was cast over his shoulder like an afterthought, another brush-off. 

Fingers tangled into Jaebeom’s heartstrings, yanking and furious and reckless, pulling him toward Mark, shouldering into his space and towering over him. His hand clamped in a claw around the top of Mark’s arm and he pulled his hyung back to face him using the same roughhousing technique that had always been the first way to settle their arguments before —

Only, this time when Mark looked at him, the loose, rattling piece of the puzzle Jaebeom had been trying so hard to work out fell right into place. 

Jaebeom was blessed with the painful knowledge of his attraction to men from an early age. Long, meandering looks across the steadily thickening landscape of his body didn’t escape his notice as a teenager or a young adult; he saw with perfect clarity the curious, hungry gazes that washed over him from fellow trainees and company employees and fans, faceless strangers on the street behind dust masks, dance partners in dank, smoky clubs in Itaweon, because he’d looked back at them the same way. 

None of them actually got to sate their curiosity, and neither did Jaebeom, too caught up in terror of the truth coming out and nullifying everything he’d worked so hard for. 

Jaebeom doesn’t understand how it took him so long to see it when Mark’s face showed it all. His forehead scrunching up defensively — his jagged, cutting teeth coming out from behind his pink grimace — the way he was trying to yank out of Jaebeom’s grip — the angry, bitten blush filling his face — and the deep, wide open, undeniable longing in his eyes; annoyed and absolutely magnetic.

The fist in his chest pummeled against his ribs, insistent. It reminded him of every stray, shining moment he’d noticed the sweetness of Mark’s smile, his welcoming hugs; the glide of his lidded eyes, his fine mouth working around a convenience store popsicle. Reminded him of every time he had limped away from a group hangout after having Mark perched, lithe and wriggling and full of giggles, on his lap; reminded him of all the times he saw Jinyoung and Mark with hands all over each other and yearned for something that didn’t yet have a name.

(Jinyoung’s throat clicks when he swallows hard. Jaebeom looks up from the tangle of their fingers in their laps to tell him not to feel bad; their years and years of waiting for each other are over.

But he doesn’t feel bad. The look in his eyes is dark and unclear in the steadily-setting sun, but it’s not guilty. It’s —

“What?” Jaebeom asks, hoarse, arousal swirling at the bottom of his stomach.

“Nothing,” Jinyoung insists. He smirks and squeezes his hand. “Keep going.”)

“You’re a dick,” Mark muttered as Jaebeom’s hand went slack around him. He didn’t back out of Jaebeom’s reach, turning closer, spinning inexorably to him. “Do you know that?” His voice was soft, imploring. Testing. Scanning Jaebeom’s face with an x-ray gaze.

“Yes,” Jaebeom admitted, mouth dry, tongue tacky, stuck behind his teeth. Mark’s eyes flickered down to his mouth as he licked his lips. “Sorry.”

He stared Jaebeom down, the last in a long line of challenges. “Prove it.” 

“Huh?” 

Mark lay his hand in the middle of Jaebeom’s chest, looking at it and then up at him from underneath long, fanning lashes. “Show hyung you’re sorry.”

Jaebeom showed him.

He fell into kissing Mark like he was stealing something, tongue dipping quick inside his syrupy mouth, scooping up a stray, shocked gasp of approval. Hands found his neck, the dip of his back and dug in like they intended to stay forever.

(Jaebeom’s story feels quick and dirty, filthy compared to the cloying, breathless sweetness of Jinyoung’s. His head goes light retelling it.)

Mark’s nails scraped into every inch of skin on his back when they stumbled together onto his mattress, yanking him in, pulling restlessly at each piece of clothing that got in the way of his curious touch. Hot and demanding, burning like a brand, the golden line of his body underneath Jaebeom’s cracked open in his bumbling, nervous hands. But he was very good at following instructions: “Beom-ah, just curl your fing—_uh_, yes, just like that, _ fuck_, baby.”

(Jinyoung’s eyes burn through the side of his face, watching him burst with color.)

Mark _ wanted this_, he gasped, sinking down in Jaebeom’s lap, cock bouncing and pink to match his lips, _ for a while now_. But _ seeing him get so big recently_, he continued as he rode him, slow and tight and absolutely torturous, _ that was the final straw._ Jaebeom used his size to his advantage to tip them over, to bend Mark so far his dainty ankles were by his ears, to fuck him hard and loud and bumping hiccuping cries out of his hyung and over way, way too soon.

He remembers falling on top of Mark, curling into his arms afterward and feeling distinctly overwhelmed only long enough for Mark to crack an adoring, gentle smile at him and poke his moles, flicking his nose to hear him bitch and whine.

(The heel of Jinyoung’s palm is pressing down hard over the line of Jaebeom’s cock, the head weeping clear through his boxer briefs. Jaebeom shudders, arching, feeling the dual sensations of his refreshed memory and Jinyoung shoving overeager fingers into his pants. He gives in.)

x

After a matching pair of dizzying orgasms, Jinyoung’s filthy, feverish whispers in his ear egging them both on — “hyung, _ hyung_, what if both of you...in my — oh, _ god _” — and their subsequent crumpling into a sweaty heap, Jaebeom feels Jinyoung’s eyes on him. He can tell without looking what the gaze is.

“What are you planning?” Jaebeom asks, turning to him and recognizing a signature Jinyoung plotting face. 

“Nothing. Just. You know. What if we had a little birthday celebration for hyung? Just the three of us?” He smiles sweetly, dusk settling purple light and shadows over his sultry eyes. “I’m sure we could think of something special to give him.”

Jaebeom grins back and reaches over to his bedside table to scramble for his phone.

(Mark reads and rereads his last text from Jaebeom. _ let us know. xx_

It only takes about half a second to decide.

He gets his manager to cancel his schedules for the next day, packs a bag, calls a dog-sitter for Milo, and sets off across the city to Jaebeom’s apartment, grin widening along the way.

_ Happy birthday to me._)


End file.
